


wash and wear

by alittlesummerwind



Series: laundry is cool [1]
Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: M/M, a little bit of violence but not too bad, be aware, i liked this prompt, lots of blood if you hate that, not too fluffy but, tw implied/mentioned abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-04 16:24:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10283036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlesummerwind/pseuds/alittlesummerwind
Summary: “i’m in a laundromat waiting for my clothes to get washed and your clothes are in the dryer next to mine and i noticed that when you put your clothes in they were all covered in blood wtf” au (melchritz edition!)





	

**Author's Note:**

> title is indeed, from falsettos (i just remembered the audio post of andrew rannells saying that on a loop while i was thinking of a title so.. i'm sorry)
> 
> this isn't too fluffy but i had fun writing this!! first melchritz piece. i like writing for them. this might become a collection/series type thing? i enjoy the concept. sorry, the relationships are sort of messy (like how they all know each other and stuff)
> 
> prompt- “i’m in a laundromat waiting for my clothes to get washed and your clothes are in the dryer next to mine and i noticed that when you put your clothes in they were all covered in blood wtf” au

Cold, dark, wet. 

The blood trickled down Moritz’s lip as he ran out the door, wind whistling close to him and his dignity not far behind. This was another night of the same shit, he thought, and he couldn’t do this for much longer. 

_“My own son, and my own failure.”_

_“The other families don’t have to deal with this.”_

_“I didn’t raise you to be a fuck up..”_

He didn’t really know where he was going, but did he ever? He ran for as far as his feet would take him. Past the Rilow’s house, past his old elementary school, past his neighborhood, carrying nothing but a backpack stuffed with a few pairs of clothes and a couple dollars. It wouldn’t get him far, but it was a start. _I’d rather be poor, cold and hungry than be there for a few more hours._

As he passed a gas station, he paused to stare at his reflection in the glass door. Blood stained the front of his shirt, a deep crimson red drying down on the old clothing. His jeans had a considerable amount on them too, which was odd. At some point in the crossfire, that must have happened. He thought before he got any farther, it would be sensible to change, because although he couldn’t conjugate Latin, he still had common sense. Also, it was probably disconcerting to see someone walking around casually covered in blood, and the last thing he needed to do was draw more attention to himself.

Moritz weaved around aisles of candy and chips, eyes focused on the bathroom, trying to be as subtle as someone drenched in bodily fluids could be. As he slammed the stall door shut and pulled off his t-shirt, he realized that he was going to have to make a stop at the laundromat.

* * *

Melchior was never a fan of laundry days, but it had to be done (he’d be damned if he couldn’t put it off to the last minute, though), so there he sat in the Soap Box 24 Hour Laundromat, absentmindedly scrolling through his different social media feeds whilst laying longways on three chairs. The harsh fluorescent lights casted a sickly-yellow tone across the room, by default causing anyone there to look tired and washed out. On the speakers, “I Hope You Dance” played at near top volume, though it was nearly inaudible due to the buzzing of the lights and the swirling of the washing machine as it tumbled Melchior’s clothes at high speed.

It was already about 1:30 A.M, and he was really ready for his damn clothes to be done, because he had other things to do then sit in the laundromat all night. Okay- maybe other things were highlighting quotes in his copy of “On the Road” and smoking cigarettes (much to the displeasure of the old salon ladies who lived upstairs), but that still counted for something.

As Melchior checked Instagram for the 15th time, he observed everyone’s new posts, though there wasn’t much, most from earlier that day. Hanschen and Ernst going ice-skating. Thea in her boxing gear. A picture Ilse posted of Wendla baking cookies. Georg’s piano with the another filter on it. He gave a weak scroll down his feed, but looked up as the door swung open and hit the wall, making a particularly unpleasant slamming sound.

The boy that came in had a certain frazzled look about him, hair in every direction and a half-zipped backpack on his shoulders. Melchior figured he wasn’t in the mood for conversation, though, and quickly returned to checking his phone. He could hear the boy cursing quietly as he started (or more aptly, struggled to start) a load of laundry. The washing machine sounded out as Melchior’s darks finished and he stood up, noting the boy, who wasn’t bad-looking, even though he seemed to be sort of a mess.

He stopped in his tracks as the boy threw a pair of pants in the machine, notably covered in.. blood? No, it must be juice or some kind of soup. He looked a little too casual to be covering up a crime, or whatever had happened for it to be blood, though.

Melchior tossed his damp clothes into the dryer, and as he looked over, noticed the boy’s hands shaking as he shut the door on the machine. “You okay?” 

The boy gave a weak laugh. “I guess.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked as he carried his laundry basket back to the spot he had previously staked out.

He just shrugged and took a seat far from Melchior and near a vending machine where he began to pick the dirt out from underneath his nails.

“So, if you won’t tell me what’s up, can I at least ask your name?” Melchior asked, looking back up at the boy.

“Moritz.” he replied, still staring at his nails. Melchior recognized the name- Ernst’s friend of a friend?

He smiled up at him. “Melchior.”

Moritz nodded. The two shared a moment of silence, both staring up at the ceiling or their feet, tapping or playing with the hems of their clothes.

Finally Melchior broke the silence. “And uh, maybe this is none of my business, but why is there blood, or.. whatever that was on your clothes?”

“My dad.” was all Moritz said, eyes focused on the lights.

He winced in response. Although not familiar with the feeling, he had seen that growing up- Mr. Rilow and Mr. Neumann being particularly known for it. It wasn’t uncommon for Ilse or Thea to come to school with a black eye or a smattering of purple and blue on their legs. “Sorry.” Melchior responded. It was a bad reply, but what was there to say? 

“It’s okay. I just got out of there anyway, so..”

“Where you headed after this?” he asked.

“If only I knew.” Moritz said, his voice quiet.

“I have an apartment, if you want-” Melchior realized how forward this was, and immediately drew back. “Sorry, that probably was really creepy, I’m not a serial killer, I promise.”

He laughed for real this time, and Melchior observed his smile. He was cute, even though he could see tears that had been streaked down his face, and a little bit of dried blood on his chin. “That’s really nice of you, but I don’t know if I should.”

The buzzer sounded for Melchior’s laundry, and he began to attend it, standing now in the middle of the laundromat. “Why not?” he asked as he folded an old pair of jeans. 

“I just don’t know if you want the mess that’s me coming along with you,” Moritz said, picking at his nails again. 

“Well, I’m doing laundry at like two in the morning, I haven’t showered in a few days and when I’m not working as a substitute teacher, I spend my time marking up copies of books and making shitty coffee, so I don’t know if I’m qualified to judge anyone for being a mess.” he replied whilst running a hand through his hair, a small smile on his lips. 

Moritz laughed, another weak one. “Still, I mean-”

Melchior finished folding his clothes. “Open offer,” he said, putting his arms up.

Normally, staying with strangers who you just met prior in the middle of the night is a bad idea, but Moritz felt some safety in his decision. Melchior seemed to be uncharacteristically normal for someone who was up and about this late, albeit slightly pretentious.“If you don’t mind waiting for my laundry.” he suggested. Never one to be forward, this was a bold move for Moritz, but at this point, he didn’t have much to lose.

“Sounds good to me.” he smiled, and Moritz knew that he was in for a long haul with this one already.

Fuck.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr is @totakedeadlyaim
> 
> give kudos/comment/hmu thanks for reading!!!


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